


I'm holding on to you, holding on to me

by Aisfor



Series: On Borrowed Time [2]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - British, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends, Childhood Memories, F/M, References to Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 18:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13552980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisfor/pseuds/Aisfor
Summary: In reality, the creation of the voting system doesn’t take them long at all. It’s completed on a late summer afternoon spent sprawled on Betty’s bed, trawling the internet for the cheapest possible hotels, as the last of the scorching sun bleaches her room.Discussing the trip—her future—whilst simultaneously considering the past and the potential loss of her best friend, and the only person she’s ever truly and wholeheartedly loved, leaves her with a lump in her throat she can’t quite swallow; it’s like she’s a puzzle with pieces missing and she can’t quite find them. To complete her, make her whole. Make him whole. Because the thought of him leaving has her sitting in the shower until the water goes cold and her skin erupts in goose bumps, hiding her tears in the stream of water.(OR the one where Betty and Jughead create the rating scale from On Borrowed Time)





	I'm holding on to you, holding on to me

**Author's Note:**

> So, I don't know if any of you guys remember the little fic I wrote many moons ago, well this is an accompaniment to that! This has taken me forever to write, I hope you are not so over this universe and that you enjoy this! 
> 
> Special thanks to Mother Maple for initially giving me this idea, long ago in one of her wonderful comments. Thanks also goes to daisy-chain-gardens, for being her amazingly supportive self and helping to break my writer's block, with all her heart warming comments. As well as, jugandbettsdetectiveagency for being incredible, making sure my grammar was tip top and creating an amazing aesthetic to go with it. 
> 
> P.S. It would appear between chapter 1 and 2 of On Borrowed Time for reference. 
> 
> The title comes from Mat Kearney - All I Need

In reality, the creation of the voting system doesn’t take them long at all. It’s completed on a late summer afternoon spent sprawled on Betty’s bed, trawling the internet for the cheapest possible hotels, as the last of the scorching sun bleaches her room.

 

Discussing the trip—her future—whilst simultaneously considering the past and the potential loss of her best friend, and the only person she’s ever _truly_ and _wholeheartedly_ loved, leaves her with a lump in her throat she can’t quite swallow; it’s like she’s a puzzle with pieces missing and she can’t quite find them. To complete her, make her whole. Make him whole. Because the thought of him leaving has her sitting in the shower until the water goes cold and her skin erupts in goose bumps, hiding her tears in the stream of water.

 

She’s busy reading reviews of a relatively cheap hostel when he brings it up. He taps her on the knee, his barely-there nails scraping on the material of her dark denim jeans sending a shiver through her spine. Betty quirks an eyebrow, eyes flickering to where he’s sprawled out on her floral sheets. The dark fabric of his clothes is a stark contrast to the pale decor, yet she can’t imagine him being anywhere else.  

 

He’s too busy throwing her patchwork cushion in the air and catching it to return the eye contact, but senses her looking at him. “I think we should make a rating scale.”

 

“For what?” She asks, eyes flicking back to a scathing review of the accommodations’ bathroom facilities that has her clicking off the page.

 

The cushion hits him in the stomach, following a misthrow. He holds it there, rolling to his side to catch her gaze. “To rate the universities! I’ve got the perfect system; we can base it off memories.”

 

“Like?”

 

“Like…” He taps his chin thoughtfully. “A one can be **listening to Archie talk about all the variations of guitar for two hours.** ”

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

“What about this one?” It was approximately the five hundredth time Archie had asked that since they entered the music shop. But Jughead still looks up, albeit through tired eyes, to find his friend holding up a pearlescent white Stratocaster. Jughead thought it looked as though it probably cost more than Fred’s car.

 

Although he was bored, it was tradition. Every time they went to the cinema to see something Jughead wanted (Archie really didn’t care much for black and white films), Archie was allowed to pay a visit to the music shop and handle the guitars until they traipsed home with a cone of chips in hand.

 

The music shop itself sat in the centre of their small town. Located between Pop’s café and a dry cleaners that always exuded the intoxicating concoction of bleach and fabric softener through the door every time someone came and went.

 

“I can see your eyes glazing over, Jug. I’m not convinced you’re listening.”

 

Jughead blinks, eyes dry. “Of course, I’m listening.”

 

Archie places the guitar against the stand, arms crossing over his chest impatiently. “Tell me what I just said then.”

 

Jughead makes a disgruntled noise, cringing at his inability to recall the conversation. He huffs out a breath. Then points towards a sea green guitar that Archie had first set eyes on, when they’d come into the store. “I think we started with that one.”

 

Archie laughs, smirking in victory. “Ah yes, now the interesting thing about this one…”

 

He makes sure to invite Betty next time; she has a far better memory.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

Betty hums in thought. “But is that really worse than **getting sprayed with the hose by Fred, that time we got covered in mud**?”

 

Jughead sits up, bringing the cushion with him. “That’s a close second.”

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

“No.” It comes out of Fred’s mouth before they’d even reached the back step. They’d gone round to the back of the house in an attempt to avoid him seeing the state they’d returned from the park in.

 

They’d very clearly underestimated him.

 

“We’re not _that_ dirty.” Archie interjects, knowing it’s a lie as he looks down at his mud covered clothes.

 

Fred shakes his head. “You’re caked in the stuff.” He looks them up and down, “What did you do, just take a bath in it?”

 

The three of them don’t respond, instead take to staring at their shoes where the pattern is no longer visible. Fred tuts, smiling. “Of course you did.” Fred steps down the porch. “Well there’s only one thing for it.”

 

Jughead looks up as Fred makes his way to the side of the house and into the shed. Vegas bounds after him, sniffing around the surrounding fence.

 

He looks to Betty. “He’s getting the hose.” Her eyes go wide as Fred returns carrying the device, unwinding it carefully, a gleeful smile on his face only usually present when his football team wins.

 

“I’m sure we can work this out Fred!” Betty puts her arms up in surrender.

 

Fred looks up as the hose starts to pour water onto the nearby grass. “It’s too late, Betty, they’ve already dragged you to the dark side.” He laughs loudly as the water washes over them and they start to squeal for mercy.

 

Vegas sniffs at the flowers in the behind them.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

They both shudder at the memory.

 

Betty pauses for thought, then grins. **“** Do you remember when we had to **prepare Archie for his first date**?”

 

Jughead licks his teeth, huffing out a breath. “I thought we said that was never to be discussed again.”

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

“Is there a reason I’m the girl in this scenario?” Jughead queries, eyes screwing shut as his head gets squeezed by the synthetic wig currently being pushed onto it.

 

Betty snorts, pulling on the brown strands to make it straight. “Because brunettes are just Archie’s type.”

 

“You could have worn the wig.” Jughead reminds her, now rubbing his temples to rid himself of the headache that’s already forming at his hairline.

 

She takes a step back to examine her work, amused. “But where’s the fun in that?”

 

He blows out his cheeks in exasperation as Archie returns, wearing a slightly too tight school blazer. Jughead points to his red haired friend. “You owe me a pizza for this.” Another shake of his long finger, “A big, fat pizza, with all the toppings.”

 

When Fred returns from work later, he looks in the dining room to find the three friends sat around the table, Jughead adorning a skew-whiff brown wig and looking significantly peeved off. Fred taps against the wood of the door frame, watching the three heads whip round.

 

Jughead’s wig shifts further to the right.

 

“Do I want to know?” They all shake their heads in unison, flushing from head to toe. Fred doesn’t think much of it until a pizza is delivered later that evening and can only assume it’s payment, as he watches Jughead push the crust between his lips.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

 Betty laughs at the thought. “I’ve got an idea of what fourth can be.”

 

Jughead lips curl into a smirk. “Yeah?”

 

Betty grins, the memory flooding her brain. “ **On the same level as watching a horror film with Archie, who is a real screamer and hates anything gory**.”

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

It all comes to light when Betty snags a copy of the first _Saw_ movie from Polly’s collection she keeps under her bed, away from Alice’s prying eyes.

 

It had started as any normal film night. They’d made popcorn, set up the cushions on Fred’s overly large sofa for maximum comfort, and sprawled out under Archie’s duvet stolen from his bed.

 

Jughead’s in the process of shovelling his third large handful of the sweet-salty mix into his mouth when a squeak escapes from the lips of his red-haired friend. At first, he misconstrues it as what could be a mouse—they’d seen a few in their time living in the countryside. That is until he follows the sound of humming that’s invading his left ear, finding Archie, eyes squeezed shut, fingers in ears, and a noise that sounds remarkably like the tune to Wannabe by the Spice Girls coming from his lips.

 

He throws the popcorn into his mouth, dusting the crumbs off on his jeans to tap Archie on the shoulder. “Arch?”

 

The humming ceases and Archie peels an eye open as a particularly gory scene plays on the television screen. A squeak escapes his lips again. “Oh god, I think I’m going be sick.”

 

Betty’s eyes glance towards a now pallid looking Archie. “We can switch it off, Arch… watch something else?”

 

He’s about to shake his head, when a loud scream emits from the television bringing a piercing shriek from Archie’s own mouth. He’s quick to jump up, the duvet slumping to the floor.

 

“You two are twisted, sitting there watching this! I think I need a lie down.” He escapes the front room, leaving a cackling Betty and Jughead behind.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

A picture catches her eye across her room, sitting on her vanity and she can’t help the snort that comes next.

 

Jughead turns his head to the side, in intrigue. “What?”

 

Betty nods to the photo and Jughead’s nose scrunches. “ **When me and Archie played the ugly sisters from Cinderella.** ”

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

“I’m starting to think you have a fetish for me in a wig, Betts.” Jughead notes, twirling a finger around the tangled wig sitting lopsided on his head. He wonders briefly as he stares at his reflection, disregarding the floral, _supposedly_ knee-length dress that does nothing for his knobby knees, if it’s his head that’s lopsided rather than the wig.

 

Betty tuts, attempting to pull the dress down at the back. She hadn’t really thought about how much taller he was than her. “I’m starting to think you like wearing wigs, Jug.”

 

She pulls at it once last time. “Just be careful when you sit down or the whole front row will definitely see more than they bargained for.”  Jughead snorts as Archie appears in the doorway, wearing a dress similar to his own.

 

Archie turns, showing the zip of the dress stuck halfway. “I think we’ve got a problem here.”

 

He turns again. Jughead looks down to his friend’s chest and back up to his eyes, forehead crumpling. “Maybe you should consider taking the tissue out your bra.”

 

Archie’s hands find his hips, the material of the dress straining against his arms. “It helps me get into character.” Jughead frowns in thought as he gestures for Archie to spin, attempting to tug at the zip.

 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have eaten that last piece of cake, mate.”

 

Archie grunts as the zip edges up slightly, tapping against the tight fabric across his abdomen “This is pure muscle, Jug. Pure muscle.”

 

The tell-tale sound of a camera clicking brings their heads whipping round, finding a grinning Betty looking back at them.

 

“Hey!” They shout in unison. “We said we’d do it as long as there was no picture evidence!” Jughead adds, not even looking remotely angry.

 

Betty grins wider. “But you both look so lovely.” The pair groan and Jughead gives the zip one last yank, the noise of ripping fabric emitting a gasp from Archie.

 

Jughead looks to Betty, biting his lip to prevent himself from laughing. He gets out, “I think we’re going to need a new dress,” before his laughter erupts and Archie bends double following suit.

 

She takes another picture and pins it to the mirror on her vanity.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

Jughead shuffles to get more comfortable. “I know exactly what we should put next.” Betty makes a noise in question.

 

He almost shudders at the thought and says, “ **Karaoke for Fred’s birthday**.”

\---------------------------------------------

 

It was customary for Fred to pick weird and wonderful things for his birthday. Personally, Jughead preferred the time they went paintballing and he got to watch Betty shoot Archie in the leg and the dramatics that followed. But for this particular birthday, Fred had decided they must go with his work friends to a karaoke bar one town over. It served particularly sweet, fruity cocktails decorated with an abundance of cocktail umbrellas and metallic paper straws.

 

“As it’s my birthday, I get to decide what song you sing,” Fred states, looking up from the songs list to the three teenagers in turn, one significantly less impressed than the others.

 

“You said I wouldn’t have to sing.” Jughead interjects. Betty pats his shoulder in solace, looking marginally less peeved at the idea.

 

Fred waves a hand in reply, disregarding the comment. “So you will be singing the classic… _Staying Alive_ by the Bee Gees.”

 

Jughead’s temple creases further as Archie rubs his hands together in excitement. “I feel like this is purely for humiliation purposes.”

 

Fred claps the dark-haired boy on his back. “I could have made you wear the flares, Jug.” Betty laughs, taking her place beside Archie on the stage.  “So just thank your lucky stars that I left them in my wardrobe and get yourself up on stage.”

 

The music starts and Jughead inwardly cringes as he speaks into the microphone with a flat tone, _“Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk...”_

 

From under the multi-coloured lights flashing overhead, Jughead can just make out Fred doing the _Saturday Night Fever_ dance. He smiles at his feet as Archie throws an arm around him and Betty, singing his part.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

Jughead plays with the corner of his flannel. “What about **as good as the cupcakes we used to buy from the bakery, after school**?”

 

“Of course you’d make it food related.” Betty retorts, but is already thinking of a particular memory that was not at all about the way the cupcakes tasted.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

They only ever got them on the days that Alice was working late, giving Betty the opportunity to have the evidence long gone before she came into contact with her bloodhound of a mother. She could probably smell cupcake frosting a mile away, discern the flavour, and each specific ingredient, without a second thought.

 

On the day Betty was recalling from her memory, Archie hadn’t been with them due to him staying late at school for football, leaving her and Jughead to make their way into the centre alone for a taste of the rare treat.

 

They took a perch on a bench near the canal, watching the ducks float by in the late Spring sun. The reeds fluttering in the wind, filling their nostrils with the scent of freshly cut grass and the sweet icing on their cakes.

 

Jughead takes a bite of the half chocolate cupcake, the other half sitting next to Betty’s split vanilla treat.

 

“You’ve got a little frosting.”

 

Betty flushes deep scarlet, pawing at her face to find it. “What, where?”

 

Jughead smiles so casually that it has her chest fluttering. Using his free hand, he grasps her petite chin. The contact sends shock waves through her body. He drags his thumb across the corner of her lower lip, collecting the oversweet mixture. Betty watches him bug-eyed as he sucks the thumb into his mouth, her stomach somersaulting.

 

“There.”

 

She doesn’t think of those cupcakes in the same way after that.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

Betty blinks hard. Her throat like sandpaper at the mental image of Jughead licking away the frosting. He looks at her expectantly and she realises he’s said something, but she’d taken none of it in.

 

She coughs. “What?”

 

Jughead’s stomach grumbles, he rubs at it. “I said, you know what really ought to be on the list?”

 

Betty blinks, shaking her head in acknowledgement.

 

“ **Fred’s Sunday roast dinner**.” Jughead’s mouth waters at the thought.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

It’s not the first Sunday roast he’s ever eaten at the Andrews house that comes to mind, but it is the first Sunday roast he ate after moving in officially that really means something—like he’s cared for and that life doesn’t have to be defined by what happened in the past. He can make more of his life. But it doesn’t mean his heart isn’t scorched at the edges, like lighting a piece of paper on fire, that contains all the things he’ll never tell the world, and throwing it into the night air.

 

He watches from the doorway as Fred shuffles the bowl of roast potatoes between the carrots and peas, the clang of plates echoing in the dining room.

 

The older man looks up to Jughead and grins, pulling out a seat from the overcrowded table.

 

“This is your seat, Jug,” and maybe that would seem like a normal sentence under usual circumstances. But nothing about his life had ever been normal and he’d never had a seat all for _him_. The sentence alone makes his heart jump into his throat and he nods, mouth open and curving into a small smile to match Fred’s.

 

Archie nods as he passes him the pork, which Jughead dumps onto his plate in spades. He comes to the realisation that this is what family is and he doesn’t need anyone else.

 

He gives Betty a toothy grin from across the table, mouth full of mash potato and when she smiles back, gravy slipping off her fork. It feels like home.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

Betty reaches out to squeeze his hand comfortingly. He smiles slightly.

 

She speaks in a hushed tone. “What next?”

 

Her coat slung across the back of the chair catches his eye. “What about **the** **time we went to the drive in movies in our pyjamas?** ”

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

It’s after her parents have finished shouting and the house has gone deathly silent, the sound of doors slamming still ringing in her ears. He climbed her window, as he did every night, landing with the customary thud that usually extracted a giggle from the lump underneath the covers. He heard nothing.

 

His nose crinkles. He kicks off his shoes and crawls under the covers, pulling it back over the two of them, shielding them from the outside. He tugs her by her waist, her back finding his chest and whispers, “Hey,” into the shell of her ear.

 

She sniffs. “Hey.”

 

Her hand curls around the one he’s got pressed into the flat of her stomach and tries not to wince at the cool temperature of her fingers.

 

He doesn’t need to know at that moment, that it’s because she wanted a gap year, that the Cooper household had descended into madness. He finds that out later, when she’s ready. So instead he asks, “You want to go somewhere?”

 

Betty nods. So he flicks back the covers, welcoming a whoosh of cold air that stings his bones and finds the coat out of her wardrobe that he always sees her wearing around this time of year. He bundles her into it and they take the trellis down to the ground, leading her by the hand to the Andrews porch, disappearing inside to the find the keys to Fred’s car.

 

He locates them in the pocket of Fred’s jacket hung on the end of the stairs and looks up to find the older Andrews stood at the top. Fred nods towards Jughead and then disappears into the bathroom. They trusted each other in that way, without question.

 

Jughead takes them just out of town to a half-filled car park, overshadowed by a projector where the credits have just begun to roll. He switches off the engine, holding out an arm for Betty to curl into him.

 

He squeezes her arm comfortingly. “Worry gives small things a big shadow.”

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

“So what about number ten?” Betty inquires, running her thumb across the back of his hand in a familiar pattern.

 

He pauses. “It’s like…the last fourteen years.” His voice is a little hoarse, “All of those moments combined, that’s a ten.”

 

Betty’s eyes sting suddenly as her feet come back to the ground and she remembers why they’re doing this. She clasps his hand tightly like she’s trying to remember he’s real, still here, memorising the way his left thumb nail is slightly off centre and all the ridges in his palm that she’s so accustomed to.  

 

“Nothing can match up to that, Jug.”

 

He nods, because it’s true. “We’ve had some good times, you and I.”

 

She swallows hard to keep the tears from making tracks down her cheeks. “The best.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this story please feel free to leave kudos or comments, or both! I will love you eternally.
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr - aisforr.tumblr.com


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